


Learning

by aeriamamaduck



Series: TES AUs [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Break Up, Canonical Character Death, Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Introspection, Memory, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, Muteness, Near Death Experiences, Nonverbal Communication, Parent Death, Past Abortion, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8366977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeriamamaduck/pseuds/aeriamamaduck
Summary: Petronella Saturnius survives the accident that kills her husband. She and Minerva learn to communicate in a way they never could before.





	1. ...To Speak

**3E 431**

Minerva carefully carried the tray of food to her mother's bedroom, heaviness settling into her shoulders. Until a month ago it was her father's room too, and no one had _ever_  needed their dinner tray carried for them. Dinner used to be taken in the kitchen, the three of them sitting around the small table, any talk limited to remarks on how food prices seemed to climb daily and what had gone on in Minerva's training that day. 

And then silence. She remembered that it was usually her father or herself who dominated what  _could_ be called conversation around the table, her mother giving one-syllable replies, rarely ever engaging. To Minerva it always seemed that her mother kept a right rein on her thoughts, and had little to no inclination for sharing them. It was rare that her mother ever gave off the impression that she  _wasn't_ a hardened veteran with a flinty gaze that matched her husband's.

Nowadays Minerva ate her dinner alone at that table, and the silence was permanent. Her father had been buried a month and she still had to get used to the quiet, to the point where she sometimes didn't bother sitting down and ate at the counter. She was getting good at replicating the recipes her mother had taught her, and she at least was beginning to get her appetite back to the point where she experimented with the flavors a little.

She wondered if her mother noticed.

Minerva paused at the door, left slightly ajar, and said softly, "I'm coming in." She did so, smiling at her mother as she always did, trying not to feel frightened at the way the older woman stared at her with such exhaustion.

Petra sat up on the bed, propped up by thick pillows. Minerva hated seeing her that way, the woman she'd both admired and feared as an unbreakable pillar reduced to a silent, mournful woman who seemed to have had the strength sapped out of her. Still, Minerva smiled and balanced the tray's collapsible legs on either side of her mother's legs. "It's chicken and rice stew. Be careful, it's hot. I thought it'd be good since it's starting to get a little cold outside."

She felt a little better when her mother gave her a look that she took to mean acknowledgement of what she'd said, and watched her mother take small spoonfuls. Minerva's stomach lost its now customary knot. At least her mother was eating. Until a fortnight ago Minerva was hard-pressed to convince her mother to take small bites of anything, and she'd watched her lose weight. More than one night Minerva had buried her face in her pillow and wept, certain she would be burying her mother soon.

It spoke to how inseparable her parents had been. To Minerva it was as if her mother and father were always one, their thoughts so attuned to each other's and their connection undeniable. Minerva had so often felt excluded by it, knowing that she could never come between the love her parents felt for each other. In the worst moments she wondered if they even loved her at all, but she quickly smothered those dark thoughts and did all she could to please them, which included the hard training they put her through.

Minerva had been alone at home when a courier came with the news: her father had died outside of Cheydinhal when he and his horse fell off a cliff and into a lake. Her mother was uninjured but it was obvious something was wrong with her based on the fact that she had not spoken a word since she'd been found trying to drag her husband's corpse out of the water.

Minerva rode towards Cheydinhal immediately, failing to keep her tears in check as she tried to imagine what she would find in Cheydinhal. She didn't want to see her father's broken body. She was scared of facing her mother's grief. Most of all she dreaded what life would be like in a house without her father's presence in it. In spite of everything it had  _always_ been the three of them in that house, her parents counting on her to carry a legacy of honor and strength.

She walked into the Chapel and a priest led her to the undercroft, his words of sympathy soft and genuine. There she found her mother, immobile beside the slab where her father's body lay. Minerva gasped at the sight of his face, seemingly undisturbed thanks to the treatment of the priestess of Arkay. His eyes were closed, eyes the same color as hers, and he was dressed in a thin cotton robe. It almost shamed Minerva to see her father so vulnerable, a far cry from the hard, dangerous man who had raised her.

Then she looked up and saw her mother's face.

Tears freely made their way down her cheeks, her hazel eyes filled with a desolation Minerva had never thought to see. Her mother's eyes seemed to tell so much at once; anger, terror, loss, all of the emotions Minerva never expected her mother to express.

She heard soft sobs coming from her mother, but she never spoke a word. Petronella walked around the slab, her hand never leaving the stone where her husband lay, and wrapped Minerva in a one-armed embrace that leaves the girl silent and petrified as she listens to her mother's strangled sobs, wetness tickling her neck.

Hours passed and they watched the body be dressed in burial clothing, Petra's hand never letting go of Minerva's, and the girl came to realize that in all of that time her mother had not said a single word to her. She had only held on to her longer than Minerva remembered ever being held and watched with a hawk's gaze as her husband was placed in a wooden coffin, her eyes red and almost frightening to look at.

It was not until later that Minerva learned from the legionnaire who had found her mother that Petra had not spoken a word since she was found, communicating only in gestures and written word since then.

The return to the Imperial City and the funeral were excruciating, Minerva openly crying as they lowered her father into the ground, in far too much pain to be astonished by Petra breaking down beside her, clutching her stomach and holding a hand to her mouth as she sobbed the same strangled sobs as she had in Cheydinhal. Still, not a word.

Afterward were days of Minerva trying to coax  _something_ out of her, only receiving blank stares from the woman who refused to leave the house, and even refused food some days. Then came the days when she seemed about to speak, only to stop as if something had blocked her words completely.

Minerva tried to rebuild her own life, resume her training and make sure the house remained standing. She cleaned and cooked, went to the Temple of the One to pray for her father's repose and her mother's welfare. She visited Helvedur's store for a few minutes each day if only to speak to  _someone_.

Though she did have to admit that things were better than they were when her father died, Minerva was coming to accept that this would likely be what her life would be like.  

She stared out the window, trying to keep from showing her sadness in her face. "You wear your heart on your sleeve," her father would tell her when he was particularly irritated.

She heard a spoon clatter against a bowl and turned to see that her mother had finished eating. She sighed in relief again and resumed her smile. "Did you like it, Mother?"

A definite nod and a quick smile. They made Minerva catch her breath in surprise. She hoped in vain that her mother wouldn't notice, but those hazel eyes didn't leave her for a few moments. Her mother's brows came together in a concerned frown that quickly turned melancholy. Minerva flushed and looked away, uncertain of what she could say or do. She didn't want to leave the room, a small part of her not wanting to risk letting this moment go to waste. Her heart slammed in her chest as her mother closed her eyes and brought a hand up to cover them, as if in pain. 

Alarmed, Minerva immediately went to her side. She touched her shoulder as gently as possible and asked, "Mother? Mummy, what is it?" Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't called her mother "mummy" since she was small.

Petra put a hand up, as if to tell her everything was fine, and took Minerva's hand in a gentle grip. Minerva stood still as her mother held her hand between hers, her throat growing tighter with every moment that passed. 

Then Petra let her go and took a breath. Minerva looked at her with wide-eyed expectancy, expecting her to say anything. But Petra turned to her with desperation and made a writing gesture with her hands.

"...A quill and paper? Is that what you're asking for?"

Petra nodded quickly and Minerva immediately went to the nearby desk to dig out blank parchment, an inkwell, and a feather quill, handing them to her mother. 

Moving her bowl aside, Petra set the parchment down and began to write. Minerva sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her mother's face as she wrote, still seeing that same desperation that frightened her. But she could not deny the surge of hope she began to feel. Her mother would not speak, but this was a step towards getting away from one-sided communication. 

Petra stopped writing and closed her eyes again, breathing steadily before handing the parchment to Minerva. The girl took it, unable to stop her hand from shaking, and read it:

_We're all we have left in this world. I don't want to lose you too Minerva. You are more precious to me than you can imagine. More than I ever let you know._

Minerva stopped there and looked up at her mother, staring in open-mouthed shock at the woman who had confessed this to her. Her mother's eyes filled with tears and she nodded towards the parchment.

_I wanted to tell you every day. I should have told you every day. You were a child. You needed to hear these words. I was a coward. I've been a coward since I was a child. Since I lost my parents and my brother._

She knew she'd had an uncle, but knew that her mother never wanted to broach the subject, and so she never asked. She shook her head and said softly, "You're not a coward. You're the bravest person I know..." She felt like such a child saying it.

_I did not know how to say words I hadn't heard since I was little. I did not know how to share a love that was beaten out of me when I was orphaned and wanted to know where my mother and brother were. Nine forgive me, I did not know how to love my own child. I just know that I do._

Minerva could not keep going after that, her tears threatening to smudge the words on the parchment. She set the parchment aside and clutched at her stomach as she sobbed into her hand, her heart aching with the loneliness of her childhood, that distance between her and the two people she adored and feared. 

She sobbed harder upon feeling her mother's arms wrap around her tightly.

Upon calming down, Minerva felt her mother's arms leave her and mourned the loss until she heard the scratch of the quill against the parchment. She turned to see that her mother began to write again.

Minerva patiently waited to read what she had to say.


	2. ...To Listen

Another year.

Petronella contemplated the calendar for a moment before returning to her task. A year since she last spoke a word. A year since she lost Gaius. A year since she stared at him on that slab, his body prepared for burial, she unable to find his face in that corpse's immobile features. She had searched for the smile that had been worn away by time and fighting, a smile Minerva had inherited. 

It was certainly her husband they put under the ground, even if it still seemed so unbelievable.

Stirring the stew, Petra glanced at the darkening sky outside the window, idly wondering if her daughter would return in the next few minutes. It was odd to believe Minerva had decided to court the Sintav boy, but Petra supposed things could be worse. Minerva had a good head on her shoulders and, whether or not Petra could barely tolerate the often presumptuous boy, she knew who and what she wanted in her life. 

The Sintavs were an old family, and had a long-standing feud with the Atius family. Prideful and belligerent were the best way Petra could describe them, but at least Leontes Sintav's parents appeared to respect Minerva even if her ancestry was not so lofty. 

 _And why shouldn't they?_ Petra thought.  _Minerva would make anyone a good spouse._ In the long year of them being on their own, Petra learned more about her daughter than she'd known in sixteen years of raising her.

Minerva was more mindful of her appearance than Gaius would have liked her to be, and Petra knew her husband would have chided Minerva for what he perceived as vanity. Still, no one could deny Minerva was beautiful, even if her features were very typically Imperial. When Minerva was small Petra would give in to one indulgence, and that was braiding her hair the way her own mother used to. Minerva never seemed to like the hooped braids, and Petra would see how they were completely undone once night fell. It seemed Minerva was happiest with her hair in simple styles, or completely loose. 

Petra finally let herself recognize her parents' features in Minerva's face, gestures she remembered from a happier time in her childhood. The expressive shape of her eyes and graceful length of her neck and fingers were her bosmeri grandfather's. She would bite her lips while she cooked, the same way Petra's mother did. With a wistful sigh, Petra remembered holding a newborn Minerva and thinking that she scrunched up her face the way Petra's infant brother once did. Remembering them ached, but Petra learned it was an ache she could endure.

Volumes. Petra had written volumes about everything she remembered, everything she knew of hers and Gaius's lives and watched Minerva read each word, her eyes taking every word in like she'd been  _starving_ for them. The look on her face, the joy of learning about her family, was worth any discomfort Petra may have felt as she forced herself to relive memories she thought she was better off without, wanting to make herself hard so no one would ever hurt her again. 

In the end it proved to be the best decision Petra could have made. Minerva had read through every page multiple times, asking questions Petra would answer in the tiny notebook that went with her everywhere she went, and Minerva committed everything to memory. 

"Corim. Why is that so familiar?" Minerva asked in quiet tones one afternoon, and Petra did not know how to answer her.

The day after that Minerva burst through the doors after finishing up her work at The Best Defense, looking as if she had run all the way back from the Market District. Her eyes were bright with excitement and Petra looked at her in surprise and confusion. 

"Corim! Your brother!" she panted out, beaming from ear to ear.

Petra nodded, wondering what her brother had to do with this. 

Minerva caught her breath and finally cried, "He was Helvedur's  _father_ , Mum!" She took Petra's hands in hers, eyes filling with tears. "Corim was Helvedur's father!"

Shaking with shock, Petra sat down quickly and absorbed everything Minerva told her. That Corim had been a foundling out on the chapel steps in Skingrad, the priest raising him as a son after learning what became of the boy's parents and sister. He relocated to Bruma as a young man, met a Nord woman and married her, having one surviving son who grew to become the merchant Gaius had scorned but Minerva had embraced as a friend.

She had a nephew with sons of his own. She and Minerva had _family_. 

Upon meeting with Helvedur and his wife to explain everything, Petra was sad to realize that she had few clear memories of her brother, and would likely find little of him in the large Nord who betrayed little to no elven features. Even so the man was their family, even if Petra did not quite know how to interact with them, or even how to be someone's aunt. Helvedur's sons were shy around her, preferring Minerva's playfulness to her silence. She was a welcome guest at their dinner table, nonetheless.

Petra had worried that silence would fall too heavily between her and Minerva, but the notebooks her daughter had given her were a way out of the silence, Petra thinking of ways to prompt Minerva into talking about anything she wanted. Though Minerva had been hesitant about it in the beginning she soon spoke of her days, bits of news they had both heard in the market, the irritation caused by her bosses at The Best Defense, and of Gaius.

It was hard to hear Minerva admit that sometimes her fear of her father's disapproval outweighed her love and respect for him, but it seemed that admitting it made several knots loosen, Minerva's words coming easier. The days filled with Minerva's voice and laughter, and Petra saw just how much her daughter loved  _life_ , loved experiencing it and loved pushing her limits. Sparring was a favorite activity of theirs, one where Petra could see herself in Minerva's enthusiasm and dedication. 

The hours spent at the Shrine of Kynareth were another source of peace, the two of them experiencing an intense security in each other's presence underneath the open sky, the sound of the trees and grass rustling in the wind a perfect accompaniment to their silent prayers. Her daughter was alive and thriving and that alone made Petra realize she would be fine, even if Gaius's absence was as painful as a knife slicing through her skin.

 _What do you want to do next?_ Petra once asked, sliding the notebook across the table towards Minerva so she could read the question.

Minerva was quiet for a few moments before answering, her green eyes--Gaius's eyes--meeting hers apprehensively. "I still want to join the legion, Mum. I still want my chance to serve the Empire. I promise that hasn't changed."

It took more questions for Petra to make sure Minerva was indeed speaking from the heart and not just parroting everything Petra and Gaius had taught her.

That was why Minerva's courtship of Leontes had come as such a surprise. The boy was handsome enough, and shared Minerva's aspirations, but he was opinionated to the point of being overbearing, something Minerva  _somehow_ had patience for. Petra did not call it love, and neither did Minerva, but the two did certainly seem to have some manner of crush on each other.

Minerva had not kissed the boy yet, wanting to build up to that slowly. Petra had to roll her eyes at that, thinking that there was no slower build up than that of her and Gaius. Years of learning each other's moods, their movements and gestures bleeding into one another's, learning each other's fears, depending on each other in so many ways, saving each other's lives, and then finally realizing that there could possibly be no one else she would ever love like this.

It was unspoken between her and Gaius, but Petra learned to tell Minerva how much she loved her, writing it out at any given time and letting Minerva read it. She gave her praise freely, unlocking the suppressed emotions of her heart and giving them to the one person who deserved them.

"What do you think about Leontes?"

_All I ask is that he respect you._

"Is that a roundabout way of saying you think he's a worthless worm?"

_No. I am not saying that. He is polite. He treats you well. Make sure it stays that way._

Minerva was happy. Petra was surviving. It was enough.

Then the door opened and shut with a bang that made Petra jump, the sound of running steps up the stairs alerting her to something amiss. Taking the pot from the fire, Petra quickly made her way upstairs, her heart falling at the sound of sobbing coming from Minerva's room.

 _I'll kill him_ , she thought darkly, hands curling into fists as she guessed what had caused this.  _Who_ had caused this. She opened the door and found Minerva lying facedown in her bed, face hidden in her pillow as her body shuddered with sobs.

Petra sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Minerva helplessly. She hadn't done much beyond holding on to Minerva during Gaius's funeral, too absorbed in her pain to pay attention to her daughter's. Two years before she held Minerva through her terror after she'd killed the man assaulting her outside of Weye, comforting her in a way she hadn't since she was a baby. 

She placed a steadying hand on her daughter's shaking shoulder, stroking gently down her back until she quieted. She turned her head around, red-rimmed eye falling on Petra, her unhappiness flooding her gaze. "It's over," she croaked. "I never want to see Leontes again!"

Petra sighed quietly, willing her rage at the idiotic boy to fade into the background as she stroked Minerva's hair. She listened to the sound of her child's broken heart, and it was somehow more painful than anything Petra had ever been through.


	3. ...To Love

**3E 433**

**_LET ME SEE MY DAUGHTER_ **

"Mistress Saturnius,  _please_. We cannot let you into the holding area!"

Petra kept pointing furiously at the words she wrote out in her notebook, glaring at the infuriating guard that stood between her and Minerva. 

It had been Helvedur who told Petra that Minerva had been arrested, accused of murdering the beggar Simplicia. Not only that, but apparently there had been another preposterous charge of Minerva supplying skooma. Merely hearing the words made Petra's stomach roll with disgust, then she would imagine what her daughter was going through in the Imperial City Prison.

Worse still was when Petra found out that it was Adamus Phillida who had arrested Minerva on the spot, and she knew what this was about.

The captain had never liked her or Gaius, resenting her husband's success as a self-made soldier and what he thought of as their family's presumptuousness. As if they had offended him by daring to rise above their wretched pasts and into positions of importance in the legion. Now it seemed that Minerva would bear the brunt of the man's hate, and Petra was terrified of leaving her in his hands.

The first day passed, Petra demanding entrance to the holding area to at least see if Minerva was alright, if Phillida had even laid hands on her. It was late afternoon by the time Helvedur arrived in the prison and led her out, and Petra did not want to imagine what Minerva had gone through in that entire day.

She didn't sleep that night, spending the hours pacing the length of Minerva's small room and praying for her daughter's wellbeing, praying Minerva could be strong, praying for Gaius's spirit to protect their child.

_Lend her your strength, Gaius. Forget about me, I'm fine. Keep her safe, let her survive this._

The second day.

The city seemed to hold its breath that day. Something had happened, but Petra took little notice of the tension around her.

Another day of the guards sneering at the mute demanding to see her daughter. Another day of impotent fury, of glaring at the door that blocked her way to Minerva's side. That night she slept, too exhausted to pace, and dreamed of Minerva screaming in agony until Petra finally found her, bloodied and broken at the bottom of the lake alongside Gaius.

On the third day Petra stared down at the same guards, silently swearing to make them suffer for every bruise on Minerva's body. How much more did her loved ones have to suffer? What more could the gods take from her? She was afraid of what she would find on the other side of that door but the overwhelming need to see Minerva lay heavy in her belly.

The door slammed open and in stepped Adamus Phillida himself, his normally composed face splotchy with rage. Petra shoved past the first guard, shoving the notebook in his face and nearly growling lowly. 

His eyes were cold as they looked at her, his hand coming up to slap her arm away. "Don't wave that at me, Saturnius. You are in no position to make demands, seeing as your daughter has escaped her cell."

Petra felt as if her heartbeat had come to a total halt, her body growing cold with shock at what the captain had told her.  _What? She's gone?! When!? Did she go home!?_

The other guard gaped at Phillida before asking, "What?! But...Nero was on duty all day! She couldn't have possibly-"

Phillida silenced him with a vicious backhand that sent him sprawling, blood pouring from his mouth as he writhed on the floor. "They put her in the  _bloody cell with the Emperor's escape route, you idiot!_ She must have followed him when they brought him through..." He looked at Petra again and she could swear she saw him smile. "With any luck the Blades made short work of her."

It was too much.

Petra wished she'd brought her sword, but her fists would have to be enough to wipe that evil look from Phillida's face...

She barely registered the doors opening behind her, and the voice she heard made her freeze in her tracks. "Mum! You're here!"

 _Minerva_.

Petra turned around and saw her daughter standing at the entrance to the prison, her breath catching at the sight of her. She was in tattered, ill-fitting leathers, filth and bruises discoloring her face and a new scar marring the corner of her mouth. She held herself awkwardly, as if she were still in pain, and Petra knew that everything she'd feared had happened.

She went to Minerva, her hands hovering over her daughter's body, too terrified to touch her lest she cause more pain. A thousand questions rushed through her mind, first among them  _What did Phillida do to you?_

She realized she didn't need to ask. The answer was right in front of her; Minerva's green eyes were deep wells of horror, and she looked as if she would crumble at any given moment.

Petra heard Phillida's heavy footsteps behind her. "You wretched little-"

She instinctively turned to block his path but Minerva moved past her and faced Phillida, her stare as icy as her father's as she pulled out a folded piece of parchment from the one intact pouch in her leathers. Her voice was dangerous as she stated, "A pardon from the Blades, assuring anyone who asks that I was innocent this entire time...and assures the late Emperor's faith in me."

She tossed the parchment at Phillida, who managed to catch it and read it, his eyes becoming round with disbelief. Petra was satisfied to see his hands tremble until she realized what Minerva had said. She turned to her, a question in her eyes, but one of the guards asked for her. " _Late_ Emperor?"

Minerva nodded, a grim look on her face as Petra's body grew cold with horror. "Emperor Uriel was murdered before he could escape the city. The entire royal family is dead."

No one stopped them from leaving after retrieving Minerva's clothing, and it was not until they left the prison district and stood on the bridge to the City Isle that Minerva collapsed, Petra managing to catch her before she hit the ground. She breathed erratically, trying to keep Minerva upright until she girl began to support her own weight again.

Her eyes, desperate, met Petra's. "Mum...I need your help." She reached into the same pouch and pulled out a gleaming red gem.

* * *

Petra felt the priest's eyes on her as she stroked through Minerva's hair as she slept, her own eyes taking in the sight of the white and black cuirass Minerva now wore. 

In one night Petra had gained a new set of nightmares, having stepped into Oblivion and seen the horrors of the Deadlands, trying to save what was left of Kvatch and watching her daughter fight  _daedra_. 

Minerva had told her what had occurred in the days of her imprisonment and her flight alongside Emperor Uriel when they were in the Temple of the One, Tandilwe healing her injuries and any other damage Phillida and his thugs had done. Violent beatings were the worst of it, thank the Nine, but the thought of her daughter lying in a cell in such a state made Petra want to hide her away and keep her safe.

Then Minerva told her about the Emperor's illegitimate son, and why it was important that they get the Amulet of Kings to a man named Jauffre. After bathing quickly and equipping themselves with decent weapons, Minerva and Petra made their way out of the Imperial City towards Chorrol, Petra making sure to keep an eye on her daughter's condition.

It was in Weynon Priory that they learned that Uriel Septim had indeed had another son, secreted away in Kvatch as a priest of Akatosh. 

What Minerva had assumed would be a swift retrieval, with perhaps some token resistance from the man in question, turned out to be a fight for their lives, Minerva running headlong into the Oblivion Gate before even entering the city. 

Once the city was reclaimed, the priest followed them easily enough, and they cut through the Great Forest towards Weynon Priory to meet Jauffre and finally get the man to his throne.

He was reluctant, that much was clear. He protested whenever Minerva addressed him with a formal title, which Petra tried not to roll her eyes at. Whether he liked it or not he was the Emperor, and he needed to act like it. 

Minerva fell asleep as soon as they had a fire going, Petra sighing in relief as her daughter rested after days of tension and worry. Petra just wanted to get her home, to help her get past everything Phillida had done to her, to take care of her and make her feel safe. She had not missed how Minerva had paled and breathed shakily in the small, dark corridors of the Sigil Tower, barely able to move and freezing in place.

Petra knew what it was. Minerva had always feared the dark and being in enclosed spaces, and in spite of the fires that raged, the Deadlands seemed composed of Minerva's fears.

Resisting the urge to braid Minerva's hair as she slept, Petra kept stroking the long tresses that ended in uneven splits. She needed a trim, though she would never cut it to the severely short length Petra preferred nowadays. 

 _We'll be home soon, child,_ Petra thought, wishing dawn would come more quickly.

She glanced at the priest, who looked pensively into the flames. Martin was certainly the spitting image of Uriel in his youth, more so than his heirs. He did not carry himself like royalty, his strong, broad build and the calluses in his hands indicative of a life of labor. He seemed unsure of himself, however, and Petra could only hope Jauffre could mold the man into an Emperor. 

He was their only hope of making sure a disaster like Kvatch did not happen again. Petra did not even want to imagine that horror in the Imperial City.

She took out her small notebook and the short nib of charcoal she kept with it, writing on the sheet and tearing it out to hand it to Martin. Confused, he took it and read it.

_This will sound meaningless after everything you've seen, but trust in the gods. They put Minerva in Uriel's dreams, and it was she who got you out of Kvatch with your life. You must accept the destiny the Nine have laid out for you._

Martin sighed with a small frown and replied in soft tones, "It's not that simple...The gods' intentions never are..." His gaze fell on Minerva's sleeping form and he asked Petra, "Why would you put such faith in gods who would place your daughter on such a dangerous path?"

Petra's answer was swift.

_I love my daughter and I know what she is capable of. I know her faith is as strong as her resolve. Even if she were alone Minerva would meet every challenge without hesitation. She is stubborn and that makes her a dangerous adversary._

Martin was reading the note when Minerva stirred beside Petra, whimpering and crying out. Petra made soft shushing noises as she gently shook Minerva's shoulder, her heart clenching at each painful noise. The girl's eyes flew open and she immediately sat up, frantically looking around until her eyes fell on Martin.

"Don't worry, you're safe," he said, raising a placating hand. 

Minerva still panted harshly, covering her eyes as her breaths steadied. Petra curled an arm around her and pulled her close, knowing that nightmares were going to become a grim part of their reality. She cursed Phillida and the ones responsible for the Oblivion Gate.

"How long has it been?" Minerva asked, her voice shaking.

Martin answered, "Not long. Perhaps an hour or so."

Minerva looked to Petra for confirmation, relaxing when she nodded. She took herself away from Petra's grip and said to the priest, "You must be tired too."

"I'm fine," he said with a stubborn set to his jaw.

Minerva shared a look with Petra, who could only shrug. _He won't rest tonight. It's still too soon for him._ Minerva smiled at him and told him, "We'll rest a little easier once we're in the Imperial City and all of this is over."

"Of course," he said, and Petra knew he didn't believe Minerva.

* * *

 

The mountains were cold but familiar. Petra breathed in the air of her youth, recalling the years spent fighting along the borders by Gaius's side. This time it was Minerva who stood beside her.

Minerva. Her daughter. The newest Blade in the Emperor's service.

It had all happened so quickly, Petra barely had time to react. Jauffre was offering Minerva a place within their ranks, his eyes filled with admiration, and Petra's heart soared with pride as she watched Minerva take a knee before the Grandmaster, swearing to defend the Emperor with her life as the man in question watched, bewildered and almost...horrified.

It seemed that he would even begrudge having people swear to die for him. It was almost admirable.

Having been welcomed into the ranks by her Bladesiblings Minerva had fallen into Petra's arms afterward, beaming with joy as Petra closed her eyes and thanked the gods for giving her daughter this chance, raising her to greater heights than she and Gaius had ever dreamed. It almost made up for losing the Amulet of Kings to the enemy, as infuriating as it was. When they came apart Petra immediately wrote on a single sheet.

_I love you so much and I am so proud of you. I wish your father could be here to see this._

The words made Minerva tear up, and she gave Petra another hug before they turned to make their way into Cloud Ruler Temple.

At the steps, Petra saw Minerva's gaze meet Martin's, and her daughter quietly told her, "Go on inside. I think he needs a word."

Petra nodded, giving Minerva's shoulder a brief squeeze before walking into the warm hall. 

_How could we have doubted her strength, Gaius? She is the gods' own instrument, and she serves the Emperor._

_We will retrieve the Amulet and end this threat from Oblivion. Minerva is going to be alright._


	4. ...To Let Go

Falling in love with Martin was easy. Explaining it to her mother was not. 

Minerva could never have foreseen that they would all come to this pass. But there it was, clear as day; Martin was in love with her and she was in love with him. She loved his drive, his strength, his will, all of the things he thought he lacked. He was worlds different from what she and her mother had expected of someone bearing Septim blood, different from the men who were his half-brothers, from his birth father.

For that, Minerva was grateful.

Her mother was a little slower to see Martin for himself and not as Uriel’s would-be heir, a priest with an uncertain past who would have to prove himself an Emperor in Tamriel’s eyes. When she finally did his relief was apparent. Petra was still a rather frightening person to anyone outside of the family, and she proved a worthy adversary to Minerva's Bladesiblings. 

She rested a little easier when her mother remained at Cloud Ruler Temple, another sword to guard Martin and make sure any Mythic Dawn spies met a swift end before they could harm him or attempt to open a gate around Bruma or near the temple. At least when she returned she knew she would find them both there, her mother giving her a single nod as relief flooded her hazel eyes. Martin's relief was a little more noticeable, and it had made her heart ache the first time she truly saw it, along with the glad smile that followed it. A smile that reached his blue-grey eyes.

And Minerva would smile back.

Everything, climbing higher and higher until Martin took her into his arms in desperation and she embraced him with equal need, her heart racing as heat raced through her body when they kissed.

Nothing seemed impossible that night. Their lives were not in danger and everything was right. Even when the reality of the dawn hit her, Minerva still kissed Martin awake, determined to see her quest through to the end to make sure she would kiss him awake for the rest of their lives.

She had rushed past Jauffre, her face growing hot at being caught coming out of Martin's bedroom. She was contemplating the possibility of him having heard them when she nearly bumped into her mother in the barracks.

Minerva froze standing in front of her, her mouth flapping uselessly as her mother's eyes raked over her body, going from surprise at seeing her to confusion over why she'd come downstairs from Martn's room. She heard frantic movement from other end of the barracks and turned to find Caroline frantically pushing a half-dressed Fortis outside, both of them giving her apologetic looks.

Once they were gone Minerva managed to find her voice and say, "Good morning, Mother...! I...Y-you were asleep when I came back, and I..."

Petra was frowning at her both questioningly and angrily, her eyes wide with disbelief and expectation of an answer. There would be no skirting away for Minerva, much less lying. In all of her eighteen years she had  _never_ lied to her parents but she did keep secrets. 

This would be one secret she could not-nor did she really want to-keep from her mother.

Her mother sighed, a sound that chilled Minerva as she predicted the harsh words she would no doubt read in a few moments. She sounded so disappointed that it made Minerva's stomach ache to realize it and she immediately tensed as Petra gave one firm nod towards the door and began to walk. 

Minerva dutifully followed her, hands curling into anxious fists at her sides. She could already imagine how her mother's already fragile opinion of Martin would sour, but she was terrified of what she would think of  _her_. 

She had so feared disappointing her parents for years, and did not want to imagine what her father would have said to her if he were still alive. Would she even survive seeing the shame in her mother's eyes, after all they'd been through in the past two years?

They had reached the battlements, Petra aiming a dark glare at Baragon until he blanched and retreated towards the training grounds. Once she was sure they were out of earshot, Minerva took a deep breath and said softly, “Mother, there isn’t a thing you can say that I haven’t said to myself thousands of times.”

Her mother scoffed before taking out her nib of charcoal and started writing swiftly on the notebook that hung from her neck. A minute passed before she tore the page and handed it to Minerva, who took it with a trembling hand. She listened to her mother's hard breathing as she read.

_Why? Why have you done this to yourself? Your father and I did not raise you to be a man’s concubine. We raised you to serve the Empire honorably. Do you honestly think you have any sort of future with him? He is the Emperor. You are his Blade. That is all there can ever be between you two. Now you’ve only made things more difficult for yourself._

Minerva shut her eyes against the agony of Petra's disappointment as it knifed through her. Gods, it was the worst pain she had ever felt, but she knew she had to get through it. She refused to let it cow her any longer, refused to pretend she didn't love Martin or pretend she hadn't enjoyed every moment in his arms. She opened her eyes, forcing her gaze on her mother's. “You’re right. You’re right about everything. Maybe he and I don’t have a future together. Maybe I shouldn’t have started anything or I should end it now! End it before he breaks my heart or I break his!” she exclaimed. Petra kept looking at her, arms crossed, and Minerva added with a shake of her head, “But I’m not going to. Not now at least.”

Petra's brows raised in shock before she shook her head in denial and made a slicing motion with her hand. She gave a harsh exhale through her nose as she began to scribble again, a page finding its way to Minerva's hand again, only she did not shake as she took it.

_Why would you do this to yourself? You are the Hero of Kvatch. All of Cyrodiil drinks to your success. What do you think they will say if they knew you were the Emperor’s lover during all of that time? They will forget you were ever a knight and only remember you as a woman he bedded during the Crisis._

“Whatever they say won’t change who I am," Minerva said. "I picked up my sword and ran into that gate in Kvatch, wanting to kill every evil thing I saw. I’ve been doing it ever since and I’m going to _keep_ doing it. Nothing I chose to do will change that.”

With another shake of her head Petra tore her gaze away, looking out towards Bruma with fury and pain in her hazel eyes. Minerva could see her unwillingness to accept anything she said, and it made the pain all the worse. 

This was the woman who had finally begun to listen to her, who comforted her after she ended things with Leontes, who had shouted at her for bowing to her mother's whims, and that he would never make himself responsible for "a mad mute."

She had walked away from him without a word, the insult burning a hole through her stomach and making her eyes fill with tears. Any good feeling she'd had towards him had evaporated, and she'd wept for hours in anger with her head on her mother's lap as strong fingers threaded through her hair.

Until last night she didn't know if she would ever find someone to love as much as her parents had loved each other.

“It isn’t fair,” Minerva heard herself murmur.

Petra turned around, frowning at her questioningly. Minerva said in a clearer voice, her heart racing at her audacity, “…It isn’t fair that only you and Father could share the same heart, the same _soul_ …I want that too, Mum," she exclaimed, hand on her heart. "I want to wake up in the morning and see him lying next to me. I want him to hold me close, hear him say he loves me and know that he _means_ it…”

She'd been starved for such open affection, her heart bursting at every tender and loving kiss Martin pressed to her body, every gentle touch of his hands. She remembered how her knees trembled when he tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his fingers leaving a lingering touch down the length of her neck.

“He _loves_ me, Mum…I may lose him in the end, but at least I won’t live my life with regret.” She felt her tears finally spill over, years of insecurity making themselves known even as she triumphantly said, “Nothing stopped him from asking me to marry him. And I said yes.”

Petra gasped sharply, her face incredulous as Minerva's words sank in. Surely she had to realize that this was no simple diversion. That she and Martin were entirely serious about their relationship. 

Then Petra looked as if she were about to pounce on someone and started to turn back towards the temple with a snarl on her face.

Minerva caught her by the arm, crying out, “Mum, _don’t!”_

Petra tore her arm away, shaking her head at her and writing with a shaking hand. She finished the note quickly and shoved it at Minerva.

_If he thinks he has the right to fill your head with such nonsense he’s even more pathetic than I thought._

“Don’t say that,” Minerva said furiously, glaring at her mother. “You don’t know him!”

Petra wrote only three words.

_And you do?_

Wiping her tears away, Minerva held her mother's gaze. Martin's secrets were his to tell and hers to keep, but she only told Petra, “Yes. I know everything. He told me about the shadows that darken his soul, his guilt, his torment, and I accepted it all! He’s a good man. Kind, selfless, and strong.” She could not keep the accusation out of her voice as she added, “And he tells me he loves me…I have no doubt of his feelings for me.”

Some of the tension left Petra's body and she looked shocked. She looked at Minerva, who could feel her stomach begin to unclench, and wrote slowly in her notebook, pausing more than once.

_Is that what this is about? After all this time you still doubt my love for you? Your father’s? You are our daughter. I love you with every part of me. You were your father’s pride._

Petra looked so melancholy when Minerva finished reading, but the young woman exclaimed tearfully, “Why did it have to take him dying for me to know all of that? I wanted to hear it when I was little! You _knew_ how it felt to feel abandoned and ignored! To be silenced! I was too afraid to play with my doll out in the open or even ask for a _real_ one! I had to play with a rag in my room and hide it because I knew you two thought it was something frivolous that would make me weak or distract me.” She covered her face, unable to look at her mother. “I wanted to be hugged, I wanted to know you were proud of me, I wanted to know I was doing _something_ right…”

She leaned against the hard wood of the battlements, shame coursing through her as she realized how selfish and childish she had sounded. Why, _why_ couldn't she just bite her tongue as she always had? She could only whisper as tears kept falling down her face, “I’m sorry…I’m _so sorry…”_

She didn't notice her mother writing until feeling a soft touch on her arm and opening her eyes to see a piece of paper extended towards her. She silently took it and read.

_Never apologize to me for what you feel. I’d rather you tell me a hard truth than give me a tender lie. I knew were hard on you. We agreed it was for the best. Your father feared for your future. He feared that you would be tempted into a dark path like his parents were and so he taught you to be stubborn and honorable. I wanted you strong so that no one would ever hurt you the way I was. We were always proud of you Minerva but life did not teach us how to let you know._

_Are you sure about him? Are you sure about marrying him if you’re able to? Do you believe you can be his consort?_

Minerva wiped her eyes and looked at her mother, who no longer looked angry but merely sad and worn down, worry flooding her eyes. She took a deep breath and answered, “…I want to help him, Mother. I want to help him rebuild Tamriel…after all of the death and destruction we’ve seen…” She glanced at the paper bearing her mother's words and added, “I’m strong and I _am_ stubborn. You and Father made sure of that. I love him. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life…”

She watched Petra sigh, her features smoothing out as she wrote once more and gave Minerva the sheet.

_Go attend to your duties. I’ll speak to him. Don’t worry I won’t kill him. We need him alive after all._

Her mother was already walking away as Minerva looked up in shock. “ _MOTHER!”_

* * *

 

Petra walked through the hall, her daughter's words settling in her belly like heavy boulders. It was true, she and Gaius had insisted on teaching Minerva to guard her emotions, Gaius convincing her that it was for the best.

 _Oh, Gaius..._ She still remembered him as a boy, risking a beating as he filled the silence of their cold nights with his voice when she was still too terrified of the adults around her to say a word.

Being the older of the two, Petra had left the orphanage first, spending two years working for a blacksmith until Gaius came of age. She remembered how he caught her by surprise that day, his uninhibited laughter contagious as he took her by the waist and lifted her into the air, Petra loving how his green eyes seemed to glow as he looked at her. She threw her arms around him, hardly able to believe that they were  _finally_ in control of their own lives.

They married the day after, Petra's boss the only guest in a ceremony where neither participant wore any sort of finery until the priest handed them their rings.

Petra had seen Minerva and Martin looking at each other with the same sort of tender longing, and Martin had made no secret of his admiration for her daughter. She'd never let her mind wander to the possibility of them getting to this point, and never expected to wake up and catch her daughter wandering out of the Emperor's bedroom, her flushed face betraying her.

Martin himself emerged from the west wing, freezing on the spot when he saw her approaching. Petra fought to school her face into neutrality, not wanting to risk exploding like she had with Minerva.

The man regained his composure and cleared his throat. “Good morning, Lady Petra.”

She smirked briefly. At least he wasn't stammering. She wouldn't have liked it if he acted as if he had something to be embarrassed about. In truth she had always found his secrecy suspicious, more so when it turned out that he had extensive knowledge of daedric magic. Alarm bells had rung in Petra's mind at that, remembering her husband's parents and their depravity. Minerva said she knew everything about Martin, but she would obviously not speak of that to Petra. 

Even so, she needed to make a few things clear with this man her daughter served. She wrote something brief in her notebook and showed it to him.

_May we speak?_

He immediately nodded. “Of course. Lead the way, please.”

She pointed towards the chairs set by the blazing fire and walked towards them. They sat down and Martin waited quietly as Petra wrote.

_I imagine you know what I wanted to talk to you about, Your Highness._

He nodded solemnly, his eyes earnest as they gazed at her. “Yes, I had a feeling you would want to. In all honesty I think you’re right. We _should_ speak. Please, tell me what’s on your mind.”

Petra raised a brow at that. So he had known she would disapprove. She set that aside and wrote quickly and without scruples, tearing the page out when she was done and handing it to him. In spite of everything she appreciated how quickly he and Jauffre had gotten used to her communication. She watched his eyes move across the sheet.

_Minerva is young. She is intelligent, skilled, and strong. She has much potential. Her father and I did not raise her to be anyone’s plaything. Much less an Emperor’s. You know of the circumstances of your birth and how you were spirited away from your mother. I do not want my daughter harmed in that way. If you intend to divert yourself with her and toss her away I would encourage you to end this farce and let her go on with her life. I love her too much to see her hurt even if you are the Emperor._

He sighed and clasped his hands together, eyes focusing on the flames for a moment before he looked back at her and said, “…As unbelievable as it may seem, my lady, I actually agree with you. Minerva is a beautiful young woman who has all the makings of a hero, which she already is. She’s selfless to the point of endangering herself, but still she keeps going. After every nightmare, every horror she’s faced, every loss, she still comes through those doors and finds the will to smile, to laugh, to keep going…To forgive my mistakes…

“It’s no wonder I fell in love with her,” he said with a soft smile. He kept Petra's gaze in his and continued, “Rest assured that my feelings for her are true. Anyone who would believe Minerva unworthy of me is wrong. It is I who am unworthy. I don’t deserve her love and yet she will give it freely, as she’s told me over and over again. She is…everything good in this wretched world. A gift from the Nine." 

Petra listened to him, unable to keep frowning. She could not even write anything after that, astounded at the magnitude of his feeling. No matter what happened at the end of the Crisis one thing was certain: Martin Septim was completely in love with Minerva.

As if he'd read her mind he stated firmly, his blue-grey eyes blazing with emotion, “I love your daughter, Lady Petronella, and she loves me, by the gods’ grace. I will never do anything to hurt her, and I _intend_ to make sure we are able to marry at the end of this. I’ll give _everything_ I have to make her happy for as long as I live. I swear to you.”

He was worlds different from Leontes, a boy who was never able to meet Petra's eyes the way Martin did. Petra still had misgivings, and she doubted they would disappear quickly, but for all his secrets Martin was at least honest. She looked down at her notebook and wrote something short.

_See that you do, Your Highness._

Petra stood and gave him a short bow, and Martin gave her a smile. “She is fortunate to have you looking after her.”

She walked away from him, suddenly needing to spar with one of the Blades. Minerva would have to finish her talk with Jauffre before finding out what Petra and Martin had spoken of, and reassure herself that he was still in one piece.

Stepping out into the courtyard she breathed in the cold mountain air and looked up at the sky, her mind whirling with apprehension.  _Gaius, p_ _lease tell me I'm doing the right thing._


	5. ...To Live

**4E 1**

Petra carried the tray of food to Minerva's bedroom.

Odd how two years before their roles were reversed, and she'd never thought Minerva would need her food carried for her.

Time had changed everything. It had changed them both, starting from the moment Petra freed herself from her silence and wrote out everything in her heart for Minerva to see, and Minerva could finally speak what was in her own heart. 

They survived the Crisis, survived the months of fear, anger, grief, and wondering what the future would bring. Every day Petra found more reasons to be proud of Minerva, more reasons to believe everything would turn out fine. Minerva would marry Martin, help him stabilize the Empire, and have a future.

Petra had nearly forgotten that fate could be cruel. The gods could take almost as easily as they could give, and they did. In a few short minutes they took everything, and Petra regretted ever hearing the name Martin Septim.

It had all fallen into place so perfectly. After Minerva's victory against Mankar Camoran, it seemed as though nothing else could go wrong. They had dealt the Mythic Dawn a sound defeat in Bruma, showing them that their Emperor was someone to fear. 

Chancellor Ocato was formally declaring Martin the Emperor when a guard ran into the palace, shattering the illusion into irreparable pieces.

Daedra breached the palace, but they were easily dealt with. They all ran out, hoping to reach the Temple of the One, and emerged to find the Imperial City beneath a veil of bloody red, one they had seen all-too often.

Then came the wretched sight of Mehrunes Dagon in the Temple District, and Petra felt a great desolation she thought would kill her. Minerva seemed to lose the will to fight, sinking to her knees and weeping in desperation as the world ended around them.

Petra could only keep fighting, cutting down the daedra that came near her, and when she next turned around she did not find Minerva or Martin. 

The endless mass of daedra did not let her search long, and all seemed lost when Dagon smashed the temple dome. It seemed grimly appropriate, the end coming immediately after Dagon essentially destroyed their gods.

Then came the blazing golden light.

A golden dragon, hovering above the ruins and facing the Prince of Destruction. The two beasts battling above them until the dragon sank its fangs into Dagon's neck and let loose a brilliant flame that enveloped the daedra until it disappeared, banished from their plane.

The dragon's agonized shriek knifed through Petra, making her cover her ears and drop to the ground until the noise ended, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

Then came the screams.

 _Minerva_.

Petra ran into the temple, throwing the doors open to reveal her daughter curled up at the foot of the dragon that had turned to stone, howling like a wounded animal, begging over and over again, _"Come back! Come back! Come back!"_

There was no sign of Martin.

Only Minerva, forehead bloody and her voice breaking, blind and deaf to everything else until Ocato ran in and asked where Martin was.

He was gone.

He was the dragon they had witnessed battling Mehrunes Dagon.

Petra, frozen in shock, looked at the statue. Not just any dragon.

_Akatosh..._

Minerva's sobs finally stabbed through her and she ran to her, gathering her daughter in her arms as her heart grew cold with the realization that Martin was dead, and Minerva had watched everything.

Minerva struggled away from her grasp, screaming denials, quite likely hurting her throat, but Petra held on tight, knowing exactly what Minerva was feeling.

She should have known this would happen. 

Neither one of them was destined for happiness, it seemed.

Once Minerva exhausted herself and fell silent, her red eyes glazed over and unseeing, Petra lifted her into her arms and walked out of the temple, letting the Blades that had accompanied them catch up. They were escorted through the astonished and curious crowds, but Petra focused on getting her unresponsive daughter home.

 _Don't be like me,_ she begged.  _Get back on your feet. Smile again. Laugh again. Learn to live without him. You can do it. I know you can._

Guards were posted around their house, ensuring their privacy. Petra spent the next few hours cleaning and tending to Minerva's wounds, nausea rising up her throat at her daughter's silence, her unresponsiveness. When she fell asleep Petra covered her trembling body in the thick blanket she'd retrieved from her wardrobe. She sat on the edge of the bed and let her own tears fall.

She cursed Martin for breaking his promises.

She cursed Gaius for leaving her to face the aftermath on her own.

She cursed Uriel Septim for getting himself killed.

She cursed the gods for their cruelty.

Why did Minerva need to suffer like this? Why did she have to lose everything just as her life was beginning? Why was her joy torn away from her, leaving her foundering?

Minerva cried out and Petra could only soothe her awake from the nightmares.

It went on for days. On the first day she managed to get Minerva to eat. On the second day Petra coaxed Minerva into a warm bath, helping her by carefully pouring water over her head and combing her hair as it dried. 

On the third Minerva finally spoke amid tears that erupted after she woke from another nightmare.

"When does it stop hurting? Tell me it stops hurting," she begged, her voice hoarse with sorrow and disuse.

It was like a killing blow. Petra could not weep, wanting to stay strong for Minerva's sake. She had already failed her so many times and refused to do it again.

She reached for her notebook, its soft glow drawing their eyes to it. 

She remembered how Martin seemed almost shy when he gave it to her.

_"I placed a candlelight enchantment on it, in case you need to use it in the dark."_

She remembered Minerva's sparkling smile when Petra showed it to her later that day.

Petra hesitated before writing, not wanting to say the wrong thing. Still, it was the best answer she could think of.

_I've never lied to you. I won't start now. It never stops._

Minerva read it and the sheet fell from her hands as she lay down on her side and sobbed, the sound weak after so many days of it.

The outside world fell away until the sixth day, when Minerva retched into a bucket when Petra began to cook their evening meal. With her emotions in upheaval it was to be expected, but Minerva could barely stomach a few bites before she ran for the bucket again and Petra's spine stiffened with dawning realization.

She waited until Minerva was upright again, struggling to swallow and taking deep breaths, and shoved the notebook under her nose. 

_Tell me when you last bled._

Minerva's eyes went round and she paled considerably. She shook her head, lips trembling as she replied, "It hasn't been normal...I don't..."

It could have meant many things. Minerva had been careful, taking a contraceptive tea nearly every day that she was in Cloud Ruler Temple. Petra knew that particular method wasn't always effective, but said nothing when it seemed that Minerva was not pregnant, but now...

She wrote a single question.

_Do you think you're pregnant?_

Faced with the question Minerva covered her mouth and looked at her mother in horror. "... _Oh Nine..._ " 

Neither of them slept that night. Petra found a healer the next morning and brought her to confirm what they had already guessed was true. Minerva was two months pregnant.

The healer left right before Minerva, her breaths erratic, clutched at her belly and bolted up the stairs and into her room. Petra worriedly followed after her but did not get there in time before Minerva locked her door. She pressed her ear to the door, listening to Minerva's enraged screams and agonized sobs.

Closing her eyes against her own powerlessness, Petra wrote on her notebook and slid the page beneath Minerva's door, pushing it as far as she could.

_Do not hurt yourself. Whatever you want to do whatever you need I am here to help you._

Petra sat on the floor, leaning against the door and focusing on each breath she took. She was alive, in spite of everything. She had lost her father first, lost her mother and brother in quick succession, lost her innocence when her tears were beaten out of her, lost her own  _self_ when she shut it away in the depths of her soul, never wanting to remember her powerlessness.

Finding out she was expecting Minerva had been an exciting yet terrifying experience. She'd been thirty-eight years old and it was not her first pregnancy, but it was the first she had allowed to continue. Both previous times she'd still been soldiering, still thought she was too young to put her life on hold to have a child. Every small movement, every kick was a surprise, Petra nearly overwhelmed by the fact that a new person, brought about by hers and Gaius's union, thrived within her. 

Then Minerva was born and Petra could only look at her for hours and days, holding her in her arms and marveling at the absolute silky softness of her skin. She loved watching how grey eyes turned the same green color as Gaius's, how black hair grew longer. 

Throughout all of the hard training and strict upbringing, Petra and Gaius had only one wish that they deemed more important than anything else; neither of them wanted Minerva to suffer as they had.

It seemed the gods had little care for such a simple wish.

Even so Petra prayed.

It was the afternoon when Minerva finally emerged, and Petra got to her feet to look at her daughter's exhausted, tear-streaked face. Her green eyes-Gaius's eyes-looked at her with resolve, even through the fog of grief that hung around her like a shroud. "I want to have it," she said, her voice stronger than it had been in days. "I'm going to have my baby, but no one can know whose it is."

Petra nodded in agreement. She would not try to impose her will on Minerva. Not about this.

Minerva began to tremble, her eyes filling with fear and looking at Petra as if yearning for reassurance. "The only other person I can trust is Chancellor Ocato, but that's it." Her hand curled over her belly and she exclaimed tearfully, "I have to protect it! I can't lose it too!"

Petra took her into her arms, bringing a hand up to her face to lift her gaze, and Petra mouthed,  _I love you._

There was more she wanted to say. More she would say when her hands were not occupied. For the moment Petra held on to her daughter. They were alive and fortunate to be so, and whatever the coming years brought Petra was determined to face it with Minerva and her child. They would continue to survive and they would live.

It would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr: **aeriamamaduck**


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